When i started this blog, it was meant to be a journal, where I could crib, ramble, rant. So it was called days and a diary. It has changed in many way now. Now, I hardly write. Most of the time, I'm writing in apprehension because I don't want a certain someone to whom all my poems are dedicated, to find this blog.
My days are so long and lazy when I'm not working. So, there's not much to say.
If I'm working, the day just passes me by and there isn't even enough time to eat. And when I'm not-- like today-- I just sit here, watching Kanchu sleep, while the chopper flies above the house, maybe in an indication of what we should expect next-- air traffic congestion.
This is only today. Tomorrow, there might be another accident and then I'm back to reporting death again, like it were routine.
Sometimes, I wonder what good is a job like a reporters's. Why am I keeping count of the dead, when I hardly know what it is to be alive?
In Gyanu's words: it's crass.
My days are so long and lazy when I'm not working. So, there's not much to say.
If I'm working, the day just passes me by and there isn't even enough time to eat. And when I'm not-- like today-- I just sit here, watching Kanchu sleep, while the chopper flies above the house, maybe in an indication of what we should expect next-- air traffic congestion.
This is only today. Tomorrow, there might be another accident and then I'm back to reporting death again, like it were routine.
Sometimes, I wonder what good is a job like a reporters's. Why am I keeping count of the dead, when I hardly know what it is to be alive?
In Gyanu's words: it's crass.
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